The 49th Hunger Games: Painting the Stars Red
by Klovers
Summary: With new Head Gamemaker Verena Blackwell, the dawn of a new kind of Hunger Games is on the horizon. Verena has a new idea that will change the Games forever, and with a rebellion brewing she plans to remind the districts who is, and always will be in control. Under her regime the Games will be more brutal and bloody then anything the likes of Panem has ever seen before. (SYOT OPEN)
1. An Offering

**Author's Note: Hi it's Kath! This is my first SYOT attempt! Here's the first chapter, I hope you guys like it! If you favorite or follow, you're my friend. If you submit a tribute or review, you're my best friend. Like seriously, if you do any of those things I will love you forever. The tribute submission form and guidelines is on my profile, as well as the tribute statistics** **. I hope to get the spots filled quickly so we can get this thing started! Please tell me what you think so far! But enough on my part…may the odds be ever in your favor!**

* * *

 **Chapter One: An Offering**

When there was a knock on her door, Verena Blackwell paused as if she did not expect it.

She walked past her kitchen where tea was already brewing on the stove and through her pristine living room that was polished almost as if she had been already expecting guests.

She counted to eleven, a reasonable time for someone to reach the door when unexpected visitors arrived, before looking through the curtains as if she didn't already know exactly whose beady brown eyes would be peering back at her.

Verena slowly opened the door. "Hello, Assistant Gamemaker Micah, to what do I owe this surprise?" The last word, a lie, tasted sweet in her mouth. She gave a wry smile.

"Hello, President Snow sent me, we have a few things to discuss," he didn't elaborate. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Verena said, stepping aside so the man could enter. "This way."

Verena escorted Micah to the living room where she took a seat in her favorite chair complete with its intricate carvings. She had always been a fan of detail and extravagance. Verena motioned for her guest to sit opposite of her on the velvet chaise lounge. The room was tinted orange by shards of the beginning sunrise streaming in through the curtains. It was quiet, eerily quiet, as most of the Capitol still slept this early in the morning.

"My apologies for arriving here at such a untimely hour," the Assistant Gamemaker said without remorse, speaking formalities.

"It is early Assistant Gamemaker," Verena tilted her head towards the large mahogany grandfather clock, a very prized family heirloom, in the corner of the room. Its large face bore the time; not yet even six o'clock. "What could be so important?" As if she didn't know the answer, but again, formalities.

"Well, I'm going to be straightforward as possible with this. As you know this year's Hunger Games ended last night, and the results were a bit lackluster in the eyes of the Capitol, and more importantly President Snow. He was displeased with Head Gamemaker Wylan's performance, along with others employees. Needless to say President Snow is now searching for new Gamemakers."

Verena bit back a smile. The games this year were mind-numbingly dull, and the Capitol was not entertained. Which reflected badly on Snow, and Snow of all people was not going to put up with that. What she was hearing simply meant that Snow eliminated all the people that were driving his reputation and the thrill of the Hunger Games down.

And now they were looking for new Gamemakers, but more importantly the Head Gamemaker slot was to be filled.

"Is that so," was all Verena said, as if she was not already aware of every word the Assistant Gamemaker had spoken to her.

"Ms. Blackwell, Snow has seen your blueprints, your plans, all the new ideas and improvements you have in store for the Games. He is impressed, especially with your young age. He admires your brutality and creativity."

"Oh," Verena managed, concealing her genuine surprise. She knew Snow had seen her blueprints, she knew he had liked them, but not as much as this man was telling her right now. She hadn't expected those words to come out of his mouth.

"I'm here to offer you a job, on behalf of President Coriolanus Snow. Would you accept the role of Head Gamemaker, Ms. Blackwell?" The Assistant Gamemaker shifted in his chair nervously.

"Yes," Verena breathed. "I accept."

Head Gamemaker. The two words clouded her mind. For the first time in a while she was utterly suprised. This was not what she was expecting at all, as the Assistant Gamemaker usually got promoted if the Head Gamemaker was not living up to expectations, but this… she didn't exactly know how highly in regards Snow held her.

Assistant Gamemaker Micah breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why not you? Why were you not promoted?" Verena asked out of true curiosity.

"I've always been a better assistant than anything else." Which translated to: he wasn't worthy of the job.

She nodded. "Tea?" Verena asked then stood and walked into the kitchen before Micah could even answer. The two rooms were connected, and the pair could still see each other as Verena prepared both teacups and the kettle, and brought it all back to the living room on a silver platter.

"He thinks you can destroy the rebel forces that have been rising," Assistant Gamemaker Micah whispered. "Snow believes with your barbaric ideas, you can make the games so bloody, so violent, it will remind the districts who is and always will be in control."

Verena really smiled then. "I shall do just that," She raised her cup, and then took a drink. Her guest did the same.

For the second time this morning she counted silently to eleven and on the count of what would have been twelve the Assistant Gamemaker began sputtering and coughing right there across from her.

"W-what," Micah managed, and then realized he was dying. "I don't understand—you've already won," he dove into another coughing fit.

"You're right, I would have been Head Gamemaker by the end of the day either way. I honestly thought you would have been promoted and I'd have to kill you just for the job. But now that the job is already mine…that's even better."

He grabbed at his throat.

Verena continued to speak. "But, if you can't notice when I slip a drop of poison into your cup, you definitely don't have what it takes to be on my team of Gamemakers, now do you? I'm sure Snow will understand. We are a lot alike, you know, him and I."

Verena played with a strand of her curly black hair as she thought of her new position, her new job. Something she had always wanted was now finally hers. She always got what she wanted, one way or another. She would not only be the youngest Gamemaker Panem had ever known at only 21 years old, but she would also be the best.

Her new and brutal ideas would change the Hunger Games forever, she was sure of it.

Next year the games would be bigger and bloodier, so horrible and devastating the districts wouldn't dare act out again for a long, long time afterwards, in fear of what she would do to their children if they did. She would burn these rebels right to the ground.

She almost felt bad for the tributes that would have to compete under her regime.

Almost.

Across from her the Assistant Gamemaker coughed up blood before slumping over motionless on the chaise, his coughing spell finally over.

Verena sighed. "This is why I had you sit on the chaise, the blood stains will almost look invisible on that velvet. Now if you excuse me, I think it's time I had a chat with President Snow."


	2. Blueprints

**Author's Note: Hey it's Kath! Opinions on this chapter? Please let me know what you thought! Thanks to those who have already submitted tributes, I appreciate it! I hope the spots fill up quickly, so the games can begin! ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Blueprints**

( _Three months later)_

"What about this?" Verena Blackwell spoke, spreading her blueprints across the table.

It was the closest she had ever been to nervous. Weeks of dedication, restless nights, and painstaking attention to detail had been put in to creating this elaborate blueprint.

It was perfect.

He had to like it, no he had to _love_ it.

The two sat in silence as President Snow looked over the blueprints, his expressions giving no indication to whether he was pleased with what he saw. They never did.

Verona looked over the blueprint as well, remembering when she inked each and every detail that her eyes passed over.

After what felt like hours, Snow finally pulled his eyes away from her newest, and improved arena plan.

"Well?" Verena said, growing impatient. She needed to impress him, needed Snow to love this idea. He had already explained how high the stakes were, how magnificent this arena needed to be. And he had also refused four arena blueprints already.

Snow plucked a rose from the bush that sat beside of his desk. "It's good."

He said nothing more.

Verena couldn't believe it. _Good_? This arena, her perfect arena, was warranted nothing more than a ' _good_ '?

She lost control. She ripped the blueprint up from the desk and crumpled the large sheet of paper in her hands. The hours she put into this, the days she spent nearly driving herself mad to create the best arena yet… all for nothing.

" _Good_ isn't enough. I can make the perfect arena. I can quell the uprisings. I _can_ do it," Verena began breathing very hard, her hands balling into fists and destroying her blueprint furthermore.

The President inhaled a flower, and smiled. Actually smiled. "I know you can, Verena. That's why you won't disappoint me next time will you? That arena truly was a good one, but for this year's purposes it won't do."

They stood in silence for a few second before Snow spoke again."Then what are you still doing here, you have work to complete, must I remind you? Go."

"Yes," Verena replied, and as she walked out of his office the pressure finally hit her.

The stakes were higher than ever, and this could cost her everything.


	3. Perfection

**Chapter Three: Perfection**

Her hands shook.

Verena Blackwell was thankful the axov that escorted her to Snow's office also opened the door for her, as she didn't know if she could have done it herself.

She could barely hold the blueprint in her hands, the new blueprint, as they were trembling so much. It was such a barbaric idea…

For once in her life Verena Blackwell was completely and utterly unsure of herself.

She approached Snow again, as she had done exactly one month and a five days earlier, when he told her he needed more. _Panem_ needed more. From her, and the arena. This year's Games were important, she reminded herself. As if those words weren't already engrained in her brain.

And here Verena was, with the new blueprints, spreading them out in front of Snow again, waiting for his response. Neither of them said a word; there was nothing to say.

Unlike the last time, Verena couldn't afford him not liking her newest idea. The clock was ticking, and it was not in her favor. It would take months to construct whatever arena was chosen, even with the finest workers in Panem under her control.

Snow looked up from the blueprints and locked eyes with Verena. They were fierce and cold, yet fire gleamed in them as well.

His response would different this time. Verena could feel it.

"The arena itself, it's generic, but the ideas of what to do _with_ the the arena…" he pointed to the cornucopia. "This, this will work. No one will be expecting this."

Verena felt as if a knot in her chest was finally unraveled. "I'm glad you feel that way."

"And this," Snow pointed to another part of the blueprint. "this is magnificently brutal. I can't wait to hear their screams."

Snow flashed a fiendish grin and Verena began smiling too. This is what she always wanted. Her dreams were becoming a reality. "I'll summon the other Gamemakers. They will deliver the order. Construction on the arena will begin today."

Snow nodded, and Verena made her move to leave. She could barely contain herself. Her arena was going to become a real, living thing. It was going to become a source of entertainment, a slaughterhouse, and most importantly, a message.

"Verena," Snow called. She stopped and pivoted around to face the President.

"Yes?"

"Four peacekeepers were killed today in District 7. Executed, by rebels. This sort of madness cannot go on. Need I not remind you, this year even the Capitol should turn away from the screen because they cannot bare to watch."

Verena gave Snow a devilish smirk. "Don't worry, Mr. President. With my plans by the end of the Games the whole arena will be painted red."

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, about 12 tributes have been submitted so far, so only halfway to go until this SYOT is closed! Please, if you're reading I would love your feedback, as I haven't been getting much of that. To those who have commented, thank you. Please, thoughts on the chapter? What do you want to see more (or less) of?**


	4. Actions and Consequences

**Chapter Four: Actions and Consequences  
**

Every year, about a month prior to the Games, it was the Head Gamemaker's obligation to visit each district. To meet with the mayors; announcing the reaping dates and doling out mentor and escort lists.

Verena never liked being the center of attention. She would rather lurk behind the curtains, away from the lights. Verena liked to think of herself as a puppet master; hidden, yet still controlling every movement made.

Yet here she was in District 1 behind a podium, thousands of eyes focused on her. Reaping dates? Escorts? Verena was the center of attention in an ordeal that could have been negotiated through letters.

But she understood why she was here. Every year this little "tour" signaled the start of the Hunger Games. From now until the reapings names would be collected and calculations would take place. Different children's names were put into the bowl based on different factors. The older someone is, the more times their name is in the bowl. If a child signs up for tessera, their name is in the bowl again. And again and again for each additional family member they want tessera for. All of it really is a very complex process.

Back in the Capitol the call the whole thing the Death Lottery.

"And this year's mentors will be Calix Valor, Victor of the 37th Hunger Games and Darium Hale, Victor of the 41st Hunger Games," Verena tried to exert some enthusiasm in her voice, although she was no Capitol escort.

She peered out into the crowd. District 1 looked unimpressed.

Verena resisted the urge to scream. Public speaking was never her strong suit. She wanted to be back in the Capitol right now, there to get full progress reports on the finishing touches that were taking place in her arena at this very moment. She was missing it.

Instead she endured the rest of the public display, and trudged back to the train only to pour herself a glass of wine. It had been a long day.

Verena had seldom left the Capitol in her lifetime. She had no interest in the districts. What did they have to offer her that the Capitol didn't? Absolutely nothing.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

With each visit, the tensions in the districts grew higher. 1, 2, and 4 were easy enough, but the other districts didn't welcome her so warmly. But of course, she didn't expect them to cheer for the woman that was going to kill their children.

Verena's voice reverberated back at her with each word, bouncing off buildings in the distance as she announced District 10's mentors for this year's Games.

The only other sound she heard was a faint cow's moan in the distance. One could have sliced through the silence with the knife.

Verena spoke louder as she announced the date of this year's reaping, competing with pounding of the pouring rain.

The citizens of District 10 stood soaked in the morning storms, while Verena stood protected under District 10's Capitol building. It had a roof for just this purpose. There was no way any Capitol escort would stand out in the rain on a day like this. She almost smiled, thinking about some Capitol escort getting drenched by the downpour, all the makeup running down their faces, their silly wig falling apart.

Verena continued to speak as she heard voices rise in the crowd. She ignored them, continuing on with her speech. A few more paragraphs, and she would be on the train again, one step closer to home.

Verena kept speaking, even as the whispers turned into audible words, then to screams and shouts. She looked straight ahead, not deigning to look at whomever was causing the ruckus. She continued to ignore the cacophony, until she saw a gleam of something out of the corner of her eye, and felt something sharp slice across her cheek.

Verena shrieked, as she heard glass hit the floor shattering into tiny little fragments. She reached up to her face and pulled her hand away. It was dripping with blood.

All hell broke lose.

In the distance she heard gunshots fire, followed by more screaming, cries, and agony. The deafening sounds filled her ears.

She saw a blur people trying to climb up onto the stage, clawing, hissing, and biting. She saw a flash of white, peacekeepers wrenching them away, finally giving up and aiming their guns instead at the people scaling the stage.

Then she saw nothing, and as she started to drift in and out of consciousness she felt hands around her arms, dragging her inside and away from the madness.

* * *

" _Be careful."_

When Verena awoke the last words Snow had spoken to her before she left ringed in her ears.

She looked around. She was back was in the Capitol. This was a hospital room, devoid of color and reeking of antiseptic.

Verena pulled her sheets away and got up. Her feet felt frozen against the marble floor. She didn't remember much, it was all a haze. District 10. A flash. Glass. She was bleeding. There were gunshots. And crying.

A nurse rushed in a few seconds later, coaxing Verena to lay back down, saying she needed rest. She had lost a lot of blood.

She offered Verena a mirror, showing her the stitches that ran down her left cheek.

Verena no longer looked like a princess. All her features, her heart shaped face, emerald eyes, long black lashes, unaltered by the Capitol, all of them were contorted by the ugly mess that ran down one side of her face.

"Once we remove the stitches we can perform surgery. It will look as if nothing had ever happened," the nurse spoke, her tone reassuring.

Verena sat in silence for a minute. The nurse shifted uncomfortably.

"No," Verena said at last. "I want them to know what they did. I want them to know I don't care."

Verena clenched her teeth.

She would keep this scar. As a reminder, to the fact that this rebellion was very much real. As a reminder, of what needed to be accomplished.

They could try to kill her, but this would not end without consequences. They were going to pay. All of them.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Okay! So that chapter was interesting to write! Please, drop a comment, let me know how it was: good, bad? So, this is the last chapter before I get into the tribute's POVs. So, I need a District 1 male before things can at least begin to get started. They are other spots open, just hit my profile up :) I can't wait to begin finally! Until next time...  
**


	5. The Deceiver and the Sophisticated

**Chapter 5: The Deceiver and the Sophisticated  
**

 ** _District 1: Isadora Emily Gallagher_**

"Hmmm? Should I wear the pearls or the rubies?" Isadora Gallagher weighed her options, examining each of the necklaces in the early morning light radiating through her bedroom window.

Margaret sighed from across the room as she dragged her eyes away from the magazine she was flipping through. The magazine she had swiped from Isadora's nightstand. The girl jumped off the bed, and strode to her best friend's side.

Isadora furrowed her eyebrows as she took turns lifting each necklace as she peered into the mirror. "It's a hard decision."

Margaret heaved another sigh. "No, it's not. How many times do I have to tell you—with your hair color," Margaret lifted a lock of Isadora's strawberry blonde hair, "rubies simply don't look flattering. Stick with the pearls. They're classier looking anyways."

"Really?" Isadora spoke as she locked eyes with Margaret, who was standing behind her, through the mirror. She was busy fastening the pearls onto Isadora's neck. "I was going to wear the red to symbolize all the blood I shall be spilling during this year's Games. These rubies are colored exactly like blood, you know." Isadora spoke with a straight face. There was a moment of utter silence.

And then the two broke out in a hysterical fit of laughter.

"Let's just stick with the pearls," Margaret wheezed, as the two were still grinning like madmen.

Isadora turned to Margaret and grabbed her hands. The playful demeanor that lingered in the air just seconds ago had turned to something far more serious.

"Thank you, Margaret, for coming over here so early in the morning. It means a lot to me. This day is really special to me, thanks for understanding that." Isadora stood from her seat at the bureau, and the two girls stood to face each other.

Margaret pulled Isadora into an embrace. "That's what best friends are for."

Isadora turned back to her mirror, and slipped on one last piece of jewelry, the ring that had been made especially for her. It was a gift from her mother; one of the many benefits to being a jeweler's daughter in the district known for luxury.

"Okay, let's get going. I want to be there early." Isadora spoke. Margaret nodded, then left the room, leaving Isadora to herself.

She took a look around her room. The pale pink walls that were complimented by the white furniture, including her desk and bureau. The string of white lights that hung behind Isadora's bed. The walk-in closet that was practically overflowing with all sorts of clothes despite the fact that Isadora tried to keep it neat. The glass case in the corner of her room that displayed all the awards she had been bestowed during her time at the Academy. And the picture wall.

The wall parallel from her bed was littered with pictures, from top to bottom, leaving no space to indicate the pink wall it covered. It had been Margaret's idea when the room was renovated three years ago, as something to fill the empty space. But Isadora quickly became obsessed with the idea. That whole summer she rifled through boxes in the attic, scoured through old photo albums, looking for anything she could find that could become an addition to the wall.

It was her masterpiece. Her life story, condensed into hundreds of photos. She smiled as she dragged her eyes across the wall, smiled at all the memories it held.

A photo of the first time Isadora held a bow. She was six, and was missing both front teeth. The weapon itself was taller than her. Another photo, of her and Margaret, standing in front of her best friend's house, which also happened to be the mayor's residence. They wore the silliest expressions on their face. There was one picture where Isadora stood tall and proud next to a ranking board at the Academy. It was the first time she had reached the first place rank. She was 15. Another picture, from Isadora's 16th birthday party. She was surrounded by all her closest friends, a photo where they were all stuffing their faces full with cake.

Isadora's eyes glassed over. This was her life. And today, she was going to leave it behind as she had been instructed to before she could remember.

But, not forever. She would be back. She promised. And when she came back she would add another picture to this wall. The picture of the moment Snow crowned her Victor.

Her smile faded, and her eyes were no longer glassy. A deadly expression rippled across her face. Isadora smoothed down the pleats of her light blue dress and took a deep breath as she closed her eyes and spoke silently to herself.

 _This is my Games. It always was, always will be. And no one, no one can take that away from me._

She left the room without a second glance. Why bother saying goodbye to something you would see again?

* * *

 _ **District 1: Paris D'aramitz**_

"Paris?" A female voice called from behind him. "Is that you? What are you doing up so early?"

He rolled his eyes. All he wanted was one morning, one morning of peace, of serenity. Was that too unfathomable? Apparently.

Paris turned around, his irritated face replaced with a smirk and soft eyes. "Seraphina, darling, the question is, what are _you_ doing up so early?" He sauntered over to her, cupping her face into his hands. Her big blue eyes gleamed, so eager, so vulnerable.

"I—I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take a trip down to the kitchen. The Academy chef makes the best insomnia cookies. And then I just happened to see you out and about too, and since this is reaping day and all, I decided to see where you were going at four in the morning."

"Oh, of course darling," Paris flashed a warm smile as he went along with the lie. It was a dull one. Honestly, how stupid did these girls deem him to be? The boarding girls at the Training Academy were always lurking around, trying to take advantage of all the extra time with Paris the day students didn't get.

"I though you might need to relax a a bit," Seraphina bit her bottom lip and peered into Paris's hazel eyes. "I can help you with that." She reached for his dark hair.

God, he loved all the attention. It was disappointing he was going to be missing out on it for a while. "You're absolutely right, darling," Paris slipped his hands down to Seraphina's waist. She flashed him an excited smile.

At that moment he heard the pitter-patter of extra sets of feet booming through the empty training room. Paris casually pulled his hands away from Seraphina, and turned to face the newcomers. Sure enough two other girls, Macy and Satin as he recalled, were standing with their arms crossed. They both glared daggers at Seraphina, who stood beaming as if she herself had just won the Games.

Oh, this was just too much fun.

"Good morning, beauties. How are you?" Paris abandoned Seraphina's side just to reappear between Macy and Satin, pulling one arm around each girl's shoulder. They both relaxed at his touch. "What do you say? An early breakfast for us all?"

* * *

Paris stood with all the other boys from his district as the escort began her annual humdrum about "justice this" and "fidelity that". The guys around him murmured to each other quietly. There was no anticipation here, no nervousness. Whoever was reaped was to be replaced anyway. By him.

Paris was finally given a break from the swooning girls, but a group of his guy friends had only taken their place. He stood with them muttering about silly little irrelevancies.

Finally the escort announced the District 1 female tribute, and before she even had the chance to take another breath, a voice shouted out from the crowd. Isadora Gallagher. He knew who the girl was before she even took the stage. Selected for this year's Games by the Academy. His new district partner, and absolute _favorite_ person. Paris rolled his eyes.

The escort called the male tribute's name. Paris didn't even hear who it was. It didn't matter anyways. None of it did. The only sound was his commanding voice as the words echoed though the town square. "I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute."

Paris strode to the stage, well aware he looked like the epitome of confidence while doing so.

"What's your name?" The escort asked in her shrilly voice.

He grabbed the microphone from her hand. "My name is Paris D'aramitz."

He sauntered over to take his place besides his new district partner.

Paris grinned out at the rest of his district with that flattering and bright smile of his. He lifted his hand in the air, and flashed the crowd a hand motion: number one. He waved his hand around in the air, for his district and the rest of Panem to see. He locked eyes with the camera in front of him.

"Humble much? I shouldn't have expected anything less from Paris D'aramitz," Isadora whispered through gritted teeth. Her face was still plastered into a smile as she waved to the crowd, and the cameras as well.

"Spare me, Gallagher. Don't pretend to act as if you are oh so deferential," Paris muttered in reply, not bothering to draw his eyes away from the crowd.

"At least I don't have the audacity to walk around as if I'm already Victor. Just how large _is_ your self-esteem?"

"Pretty large," Paris replied. "But do you know what's even bigger than my ego? Meet me in my room tonight on the train and you can find out," he whispered low enough so no microphones could pick up what he said. Then he flashed a devilish smile at Isadora before resuming his soak in the limelight.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Isadora hissed, keeping her voice low and a smile still unwavering on her face. There were cameras everywhere. Lights everywhere. All eyes lingered on the District 1 tributes that would be competing in this year's games. The tributes that were supposed to bring back the title of Victor. Had been trained to do so.

The escort finished up her speech, congratulating Paris and Isadora while looking silly as ever with a wreath of fruit crowning her orange wig, and her lips painted into the shape of a heart.

"I'm flattered you feel that way," Paris replied, sarcasm oozing from his voice as the peacekeepers ushered the two inside the district's Capitol building.

His voice oozed with sarcasm, but the short, gleaming flash in his eyes revealed otherwise. _Good._ Paris thought, _let them all perceive me as some shallow brute from 1. It will only make the stupefied look on their face more priceless when the discover I am more than what I seem. But by the time they do, it will be too late; as I leap from the shadows and add yet another name to my kill list._

District 1 wanted a Victor? Well that's indeed what they'd get.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_ Finally, someone other than Verena! Crazy, right? We have begun! Seriously guys, I'm so excited. It is so much fun taking who was submitted and transforming them into characters with dialogue and everything. I will be letting the people whose tributes are selected know through PM. ******Let me know what you think of the tributes!** Who do you like better, Isadora or Paris? Sit down, and buckle in cause this is a long Author's Note... **

**I will reveal the tributes by District, so here we have it, District 1's tributes:**

 _ **District 1 Male: Paris D'aramitz, 18 (Oodlestroodle)**_

 _ **District 1 Female: Isadora Emily Gallagher, 17 (xQueen-Of-Applesx)**_

 **I am giving each tribute a "title" that they are associated with, their titles will be the chapter names for all the "introducing the tributes" chapters. I thought it was a cool idea. ;)  
**

 ** _NOTE: I AM NOT DOING 12 REAPINGS!_ Every tribute will get a POV before the Games start, but 12 reapings gets really boring, as I'm sure you agree. So I will do chapters like train rides, training days, interviews, all that, but not for each tribute. I'm sure that benefits all of us, as you probably don't want to read 12 reapings and 12 interviews, and I don't want to write 'em.  
**

 **Also, their are still tribute spots open, don't be shy! Submit a tribute if you have already!  
**

 ** _Sponsor Syste_ _m:_** **I don't have everything planned out yet, but I am doing a sponsor system. You can send things to tributes of your choice with points. And ladies and gentlemen, POINT COLLECTING STARTS NOW! Here's how it works: _  
_**

 **You get 2 points for reviewing each chapter.**

 **You get 1 point for answering correctly whose title is whose. So for example, this chapter we have The Deceiver and The Sophisticated. If you can correctly match each title with the tribute it belongs to, you get a point! I will reveal the correct answers in the next chapter!**

 **So you could basically get three sponsor points in each chapter through one review!**

 **In the near future I will create a list of all the things you can send to the tributes of your choice and how many points they cost.  
**

 **Phew! Well, that was a lot. I will have all this sponsor info in my bio too. I hope you enjoyed. :) Until next time! -Kath**


	6. The Fighter and the Avenger

**Chapter 6: The Fighter and the Avenger**

 _ **District 2: Yennenga Lash**_

Yennenga Lash's keys jangled incessantly as she unlocked the door to the candy store. As soon as she pushed the door open she inhaled the sweet smell that permeated the air. Sweet tarts, chocolates, lollipops, gum balls, the aroma was infused with the scents of all these goodies and more.

The bright colors of the sweet treats pulled her eyes in every direction. There was every kind of candy one could imagine here, shelves lined all four walls and were placed in rows throughout the room. It wasn't a large store, but it was big enough to serve it's purpose.

And Yennenga just happened to have a key so she could access the store anytime she wanted.

No, she wasn't here to steal. She didn't use the key to pilfer the store whenever, to take small amounts of candy the owner would never miss. Instead she was here to clean up.

Yennenga sighed as she walked over to the cash register. It was unlocked, although it wasn't supposed to be. The money inside was all scattered, not at all placed where it should have been.

 _"I handled it Yennenga,"_ her mother Athena has said to her last night. From the frustrated tone of voice she had used Yennenga knew her mother didn't handle it. _"I have it under control,"_ Athena had shouted, but was she trying to convince her daughter of this, or herself?

Either way, she had not done her job as the store's Assistant Manager, so Yennenga had to come in and clean up her mess. Her mother couldn't lose this job, it was the only thing keeping her happy these days.

Yennenga sorted the one dollar bills into a pile, the fives into another, and did the same thing for the twenties and the fifties.

It was early. She watched the sun rising in the distance through the store's large glass windows. Her reflection stared back at her. Tan skin, dotted here and there with freckles. Green eyes, and wavy brown hair.

Her mother didn't know she was here. She never told Athena when she came to clean up. If she did, her proud and headstrong mother would be devastatingly embarrassed that her daughter had to check on her, had to clean up after her when she couldn't. Yennenga didn't want that to happen.

She quickly slipped the money back where it belonged and slid back out the door, beginning the trek home.

The manager of this store was not a very forgiving man. She prayed that her mother could pull it together while she was away, just until Yennenga could come back as Victor. Her mother had lost so much, the last thing she needed to lose right now was her job, and along with it her pride.

Yennenga quietly arrived back into the house. By now, it was a reasonable hour. She walked over to the stove and turned the burner on. _Did they have any eggs left for breakfast?_ She thought as she pulled the fridge open. Only two left. Just enough.

Almost halfway through the breakfast preparation, Yennenga's mother stumbled out of her bedroom. Yennenga guided Athena to a seat at the kitchen table.

"Did you take your pills yet this morning, Mom?" Yennenga asked, placing a gentle hand on her mother's bony shoulder.

Athena shook her gaunt face: no.

Yennenga ventured into her mother's room, and ripped open one of the dresser drawers. She pulled out a bottle of pills. Almost empty. Yennenga cursed silently. These wouldn't last until she returned from the Games, and their was absolutely no money or time to buy new ones.

"Here you go," Yennenga said calmly as she placed two pills down on the table before her mother. "Take these, okay? And be careful how many you use while I'm gone." She handed Athena a glass of water to take the pills with.

"Thank you, my dear," Athena wheezed.

Yennenga's heart shattered. She had to look away from her mother. The girl turned her focus on the crackling eggs, her eyes glassed over.

A few more weeks. A few more weeks, and Yennenga would be back, with the money she needed to get her mother the right kind of medical treatment, not just some pills that were euphemisms to keep her floating between the borders of reality and insanity.

She had trained, poured all her dedication and time into preparation. She had fought, and reached the top of the rankings at the Academy. She would enter the Games, and she would keep fighting, to keep her mother alive.

Yennenga looked back at her mother, who struggled to eat her breakfast. Athena's hands shook as she raised the bread to her mouth and took a bite. She struggled, but she took yet another bite.

Her mother might be struggling, but Athena was a solider. She wouldn't give up. Yennenga smiled, at the trait she had inherited from her mother, and went back to preparing the eggs.

* * *

 _ **District 2: Perseus Slater**_

"Did you hear about the uprisings in 10? Rumor has it they almost assassinated the new Head Gamemaker while she was up there a few weeks ago," Roxanne spoke from beside Perseus. Even though she was sitting right beside him, Roxanne's voice was almost lost in the ruckus of the Training Academy mess hall.

"No," Perseus spoke as he twirled his spoon around in his oatmeal with indifference. By now, his breakfast was already cold. He wasn't very hungry anyway.

"Well, all we know is that the Head Gamemaker went on air yesterday for some announcement, and there was this huge scar running down the side of her face. And, while on her tour, she was rushed back to the Capitol from District 10, and didn't return to visit the other remaining districts," Roxanne buried her head back into the newspaper.

"And that means what to me, Roxanne? Why should I care?"

"Well, according to this," she nodded towards her newspaper, or her lifeline as Perseus liked to call it, and read him a passage. "'When Verena Blackwell visited 10, thirteen innocent people died when the peacekeepers rained down bullets on the rebels. Twenty one died in all.' The Capitol is trying to keep it a secret, but it's certainly not staying that way."

He sighed. "It doesn't matter to me. The fools shouldn't have tried to assassinate the Head Gamemaker. The thirteen innocents... if they weren't smart enough to move out of the way when all that happened, they don't deserve to live. Let them all rot in their graves," Perseus replied with total apathy.

Roxanne sighed, poking at Perseus's chest. "I know you have a heart in there somewhere, however shriveled up and dark it might be."

Despite not wanting to, Perseus let loose a small smile, something that only Roxanne could summon from him.

"Why'd you come her for breakfast anyway?" Roxanne's asked, as she stuffed another biscuit into her mouth. "You know how your mother gets…did you tell her you were leaving?"

"Of course I told her," Perseus snapped. "And I'm here to pick something up."

"I thought you got all your stuff last week, when you moved out of the Academy," Roxanne spoke, her brown brows furrowing.

"I still have to pick up one thing," Perseus didn't elaborate. Instead, he stood up. "I'm actually going to go pick it up right now. I'll be back down soon."

"Okay," Roxanne's said, knowing by now not to ask questions. She turned around and started chatting to the girl seating beside her.

* * *

Perseus's room was barren. The walls were picked clean, there was nothing on the desk, no covers on the mattress. The room was devoid of emotion, of feeling. Though it hadn't felt much different that this when Perseus _did_ live here.

Perseus stalked over to the chest that used to hold his clothes. He unlocked it. Empty. But then he reached down and pried the bottom up with his fingers, until a loud pop sounded, reverberating against the desolate walls. He looked down into the crate again, at what was hidden below the chest's bottom.

It was nothing much. Just a letter, a pendant, a watch, and a couple of rings.

He picked up the pendant. The last name Slater was carved intricately into the band, but it didn't belong to Perseus. No, this belonged to his brother.

Gaius, his older brother. Gaius, his role model, his idol. Gaius, who had volunteered at the age of 18 and gotten himself killed in the arena.

Gaius Slater was sure to win his Games. His odds towered above the other tributes'. He had obtained a training score of 12. Perfection. He was showered with so many gifts from sponsors, he couldn't even carry them all. But none of it was enough to save him. He didn't even place second.

Perseus clenched his jaw remembering the last words his brother had spoken to him. _"I promise, I'll come back for you."_ But he didn't come back for Perseus. He came back sealed up in a coffin.

So Perseus ravaged by revenge and anger enrolled at the Training Academy, following in his brother's footsteps. Fueled by a fire the other boys didn't have, Perseus rose to the top of the rankings, just as his brother did, and was now presented with the chance to compete in the Games.

He twirled the token around in his fingers. Perseus had promised Gaius to keep the pendant safe when it was handed to him 4 years ago. And unlike his brother, Perseus didn't break his promises.

He was going to finish what Gaius started.

Perseus slammed his fist down on the wooden floorboards. The room shook. _He was going to finish what his brother started._

Perseus put the letter and the other valuables back into the box and shoved the bottom back down. He locked up the chest and placed it on his mattress before proceeding to storm out of the room.

* * *

"I'm actually going to miss watching the games watching the Games with you this year," Roxanne spoke. The two conversed as they walked down the paved path to the reaping venue. Perseus had cooled off, the morning breeze calming his nerves.

"And why is that?" Perseus asked the question, smirking sheepishly at the answer he knew was coming.

Roxanne grinned at him. "Because," she drew out the word, "you somehow manage to keep a smile on my face as I watch children get murdered."

"And how do I do that?" Perseus questioned, Roxanne's smile was contagious, and it soon spread his smirk grew into a grin.

"Remember last year when that brute from 11 with all the sponsors accidentally ate those poisonous herbs and died?"

Perseus sarcastically winced. "I remember. When the cannon went off I said, 'I can't _be-leaf_ it!' Get it because the leaves killed him? And I couldn't _believe_ it because he was a front-runner and he didn't make it past the second day."

Roxanne mockingly covered her eyes. She shook her head, laughing. "I got it, Perseus. And when the Careers started turning on each other and the girl from our District took a knife to the spine you said, 'Don't you just hate it when your friends stab you in the back?' I was laughing as the girl from our district bled out in the arena!"

The two laughed, and Perseus thought of the letter and all the other items sealed back up in the chest. He had left it in his dorm for Roxanne.

No, the letter was not some declaration of love in which Perseus claimed that he had loved Roxanne all his life, for she was like a sister to him. Rather it contained instructions for Roxanne to handle Perseus's mother while he was gone, just a note that told her to visit twice a week to check in. She would be all alone without Perseus visiting, and she could sometimes get a bit…out of control. She had been very unpredictable since Gaius's death. The note also said to keep his watch and other valuables in a special place until he got back, because they wouldn't be safe in the house alone with his mother. Roxanne would understand. She always did.

He didn't just give the letter to her, because that would create too much melodrama. Too much emotion. Roxanne was a big crier. Perseus wasn't.

So, Perseus slipped the key into Roxanne's back pocket, where she would surely find it before day's end.

Perseus halted his step, and he gripped Roxanne's shoulders lightly, stopping her as well. "It's for the chest in my room. You can take the bottom out of the chest," was all he said to Roxanne who looked at him with a worried expression on her face. She'd find the key though, and remember this conversation, or rather this moment. It would all make sense. Then she'd find the letter and everything else. Roxanne was smart, he trusted her.

Perseus gave a her a smile as the people around him started to look at the pair with puzzled faces. He let go of Roxanne. People looked at him as if he was crazy. He balled his hands into fists.

He wasn't crazy.

* * *

 _ **District 2: Yennenga Lash**_

Yennenga flashed a smile and nodded to everyone who came up to congratulate her on the fact she would be competing in this year's Games.

It was almost like déjà vu, as the same thing had happened a few months ago when she was officially announced as the one who would volunteer for the Games. All the girls in the Training Academy were asked to congratulate her. Some were actually happy for her, but many more were jealous. They gripped her hand too tightly when they shook it, and although a smile graced their face, hatred filled their eyes.

Today though, as the reality of the reaping sunk in, most of the girls wished Yennenga good luck with genuine smiles, no longer wanting to be in the Games. She almost laughed at the typical behavior of the District 2 girls.

Yennenga wasn't nervous though. She would be fine. An alliance with the Careers, straight for the cornucopia, vivid images of the upcoming Games filled her mind. She had been thinking of arena strategies for nearly a decade now. She would survive Games.

"Nervous, much?" Victory teased as she slid into line beside her best friend.

"You wish," Yennenga replied, and the two began to laugh.

"I thought you were going to come over this morning, is your mother okay?" Yennenga always hung out at Victory's house, it was like her second home. Yennenga's house was viewed the same to Victory.

"Yeah, she's fine now. Candy store again."

"No problem," Victory said, understanding immediately. It was one of the things Yennenga loved about her best friend. "You ready to win this year?" Victory asked, changing the subject.

"Totally," Yennenga replied, smiling again. She blew a piece of her brown hair away from her face. "And _you'll_ win next year, and then we can be next door neighbors in Victor's Village!"

"We can have sleepovers whenever!" Victory replied and the two girls laughed.

"Yes! But, your win will be even better than mine because it's a Quell next year."

Victory playfully shoved her best friend. "Let's just get through this year first, alright?"

The audience quieted down as the escort's bold voice gripped the crowd's attention.

Yennenga's heart raced as the escort stepped up to the large glass bowl, his heels echoing with each step he took. He announced the reaped female's name. "Amarantha Grant!"

"I volunteer!" Yennenga cried. She gave Victory's hand a squeeze before proceeding to the stage where she was displayed for all of Panem to see. She stood on the stage as this year's District 2 female tribute.

It had finally begun.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_ Well there ya go! Next chapter is D3! But, in order for that chapter to happen, I need a District 3 male! So please, again, if you want to submit, go ahead! :)**

 _ **District 2 Male: Perseus Slater, 18 (** **FoxfaceFan1)**_

 _ **District 2 Female: Yennenga Lash, 18 (Juud108)**_

 **The tributes for D2! How did you guys like the chapter? This one was a bit longer. What did you think of Yennenga and Perseus? Which one is your favorite out of the two?  
**

 **The answers to the last questions was: Paris is The Deceiver and Isadora is The Sophisticated. Congrats to all those who got it right!**

 **Remember, review this chapter for two sponsor points (and because it'd make my day), and answer the question who is The Avenger and who is The Fighter for another point! :) See ya soon! -Kath  
**


	7. The Pessimist and the Optimist

**Chapter 7: The Pessimist and the Optimist**

 _ **District 3: Wyre Hanson**_

 _Wyre._

 _Wyre._

Wyre's eyes were squeezed shut, and metallic music pounded into her head. It was so loud, so vicious sounding it distracted her from her sorry excuse for a life. She enjoyed the wickedly loud music that made her head ache.

She turned it up, as she thought she heard someone calling for her. The screaming sounds thundered and she wondered if her ears would bleed. Was that possible? Wyre wouldn't care if it was.

"Wyre!" Her brother Xavier hissed, ripping her earphones off. Someone really was calling for her. Dislodged from her ears, the music that she had playing was so loud it could be heard clearly as Xavier held them in his hands.

Wyre opened her eyes while Xavier opened the curtains. She squinted, and her hands quickly moved to shield the sunlight from streaming directly into her eyes. It was too bright. "Christ's sake X, it's not even noon yet," Wyre snapped, sitting up in bed. She was startled by the light.

Xavier's eyes widened and he shrugged his shoulders. "It better not be, the reaping would be halfway over by then and the Peacekeepers would be trying to break down our house door wondering why we weren't there when the whole district's attendance is required."

"What?" Wyre spit a string of curses. "That's today? I thought today was Wednesday. That means…"

Xavier ripped off the blanket she was snuggled under and began folding it up. "Nope it's Friday. And yup, that means you've been camped out in your room for six days straight. Congrats Wyre, I think you've broken your own record." A tentative smile played on his lips. He joked, but if it was reaping day, that meant he was just trying to ease the mood.

The girl's eyes flashed back and forth as her brain raced. Six days… she knew she had been holed up in her room for a couple days, but almost a week... she hadn't thought it had been that long. It hadn't _felt_ like that long. But the days and nights blended together in her room when the opaque black curtains hung blocking out all light. The days blurred furthermore when she slept for hours on end, not checking the time. She could have been awake all night and sleeping all day and she wouldn't have known the difference.

She had a clock in her room, but Wyre had been residing in complete darkness for the past couple days. She couldn't see it. And she certainly wasn't going to ruin the mood by turning the lights on.

Wyre strained her eyes, which were still not adjusted to the bright sunlight, to see her brother who was ruffling around in her closet. "Do you own anything that isn't black, Wyre? Clothes included?" Xavier asked, motioning to the contents of her closet and beyond to the rest of her room.

Black curtains. Black bed sheets. Black walls. She even had her brother install black lights in her room; to set the whole thing off. There could never be too much black.

Wyre slipped out of bed, her back aching from laying there so long. "I'll pick something out," she hobbled over to her closet and jerked a black sweater off one of the racks as well as a pair of black sweatpants.

Xavier pursed his lips, standing with his arms crossed. "Um, no. I don't think so. You're not looking like death today sweetheart."

Wyre rolled her eyes as her brother herded her away from the closet. "Like different clothes is going to change that," Wyre motioned to herself.

Her fingers were covered in chipped nail black polish. The very tips of her hair was tinged a light pink, faded from when she had first dyed them magenta. Her eyes were shadowed by rings of old black eyeliner that she had not washed off, and a nose ring pierced her septum.

Her brother shrugged. "Fair enough. But still, let me pick out an outfit for you."

Wyre rolled her eyes and reached for her earphones again. She didn't have time for this.

"No," Xavier warned. "We have to leave soon. Go wash your face off. Thoroughly."

Wyre shrugged at her caring brother's valiant effort to make her look presentable.

She walked into the bathroom and washed her face, removing all the makeup, rubbing her face red and raw while she was at it. When Wyre was finished, she traveled back out to her bedroom and put on the plain gray dress her brother had laid out for her.

Wyre walked into the kitchen where her brother was busy preparing breakfast. She pushed aside his blueprints that were scattered all over the kitchen table, along with some prototypes Wyre guessed he had brought home from work. Oh Xavier, her older brother, the ingenious inventor.

"Well X, you succeeded. I don't look like death," Wyre said, fixing her expression into one without emotion. "I look like the dead."

With her naturally pale skin, further whitened by all the time Wyre spent inside, along with her hair, which was a shade of blonde so light it looked almost white, Wyre looked like a ghost. And her eyes, without makeup surrounding them, her big blue eyes stood out the most, so blue they looked transparent in the morning sun. Her frail figure didn't help the image either. Wyre looked as if she belonged to another world besides this one.

"Well I think you look nice." And there was her brother, always thinking everyone and everything looked pleasant, jolly. Wyre rolled her eyes.

She whirled her spoon around in the cereal Xavier placed on the table in front of her. Wyre's stomach told her to refuse the food. She felt as if it were doing somersaults. She was too nervous, too scared to eat.

Wyre would be reaped, of course she would be, because her luck was just that ridiculously horrible. Even though she took out no tesserae and her name was only in the bowl the minimum amount of times it could be for a girl her age, she would still be reaped.

She could feel it in her bones.

Wyre stared transfixed at the cereal, eyes already looking dead. She was scared to be reaped, but why? She didn't have anything to live for. She wasn't like her brother, who was a successful inventor, someone who was going to change the world someday. No, Wyre would never make a positive contribution to this world. She was nothing. Nothing but a waste of oxygen.

"Cheer up, Wyre," Xavier urged, a forced smile on his face. He was nervous for her too. Perhaps even more so than she was. "Everything will be alright."

And although she didn't say it out loud, for her brother's tenderhearted sake, Wyre knew everything wasn't going to be alright.

* * *

 _ **District 3: Canon Tadashi**_

Canon flashed a smile to the Peacekeeper that pricked his finger for a blood sample. "Thank you," he spoke as he took a step into the eligibles standing section where he waited for his other two brothers.

Sony walked over to Canon's side, grabbing at his own just-pierced finger.

"See? It wasn't that bad was it?" Canon said offering another smile to his brother, his almond shaped eyes crinkling with the gesture.

Sony returned a nervous smile as Fuji walked over. 3 of 3. The Tadashi triplets had all officially arrived at this year's reaping. Canon just hoped they would all leave together.

And they would. He knew it. They would make it out. Just like they did last year. Why was Canon worrying?

Yet his hands still shook as he motioned for his brother to find a place to stand with him. He smiled, trying to push away the fear. He took a deep breath, but the exhale came out shaky.

Once the boys from school noticed Canon had arrived, they all flocked to him, where he gave reassuring words those who looked like they needed it. "There are thousands of boys here, guys. What are the chances one of us is going to be reaped?" He reasoned, and they nodded, trying hard to believe the calming words that Canon spoke.

As the escort began his annual speech, Canon stood among a crowd of boys he knew, all of which were frozen in fear of whom was to be chosen. All of them expecting the worst.

Canon didn't think like that though. He ruminated over their odds in his head. There were thousands of boys here in District 3, some who have taken out tesserae. The majority with their names in more than once. For even one of the triplets to be reaped, it was below a 1% chance. For a boy Canon knew to be reaped it was less than 5%.

It felt like a lifetime to Canon as the escort carried on and on about the Games and their origin, his sharp voice piercing the tension in the air. He finally plucked a name from the girl's bowl, and held it up for all the cameras to see. Canon held his breath and the escort called out, "Wyre Hanson!"

Canon heard a shriek, but it wasn't from the girls' area, it was from the rest of the district's viewing section. He watched as a man with messy light blonde hair and bright blue eyes pushed to the front of the spectator's area, grabbing at the velvet rope, Peacekeepers restraining him.

A girl bearing resemblance to him walked to the stage, same light blonde hair, same blue eyes. She wore a stunned expression on her face, that melted into one of no emotion at all as she stood on the stage for longer. She stared out blankly into the crowd. Poor girl, Canon thought. Wyre Hanson. The surname sounded familiar. He'd have to write the family a card, expressing his condolences.

The escort walked over to the boys' bowl and whipped out the second name. He held it high in the air for a few seconds, taunting. Canon didn't breathe. He couldn't. It was silent all around him as the escort opened the card up, seeing the name before everyone else did.

 _Please don't be Sony. Please don't be Fuji. Please don't be any of my other friends._

"Canon Tadashi!"

"No!" Canon let out a strangled sound. The boys around him looked petrified. Fuji opened his mouth. "Don't volunteer!" Canon hissed. He was not going to let his brothers same him. He wasn't wasn't going to let his friends do it either. Sony began to cry. Canon couldn't bare the pained faces around him so he journeyed to the stage.

Canon approached the stage slowly. His stomach churned. He felt as if he was going to throw up. Canon looked out into the crowd. His parents? Where were his parents? He looked desperately for them, for consolation, but it was impossible to find them in the huge crowd. He didn't dare look at his brothers, at his friends, for fear he might start crying if he did.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

The escort wrapped up his announcements and Peacekeepers towered over Canon ready to take him away. Canon's eyes widened as he gobbled up the last views of District 3 that he could find. The skyscrapers that towered above the Capitol building, adorned with flashing banners and lights. The curved and winding roads and highways that twisted through the sky. Usually bumper-to-bumper traffic, they were empty right now.

And then the doors shut. Canon stood in a dimly lit hallway, the lights lining the walls glowing an eerie yellow color.

The Peacekeepers disappeared, off to prepare the visiting rooms. Canon didn't know if he was ready to face his family yet.

After a few minutes filled with deep breaths and soothing thoughts Canon began to calm down in the slightest bit. He would approach the arena like he approached anything else, with kindness. Just as he had planned, just in case. Everyone had thought of an arena strategy before. That was his. He would make allies. And he would start with his district partner.

He took a closer look at the girl standing beside him, Wyre. She was skinny and gaunt. Although her face indicated she was maybe three or four years older than Canon, she was barely taller than him. She said nothing. She didn't move.

"Hello," Canon's voice trembled as he spoke on friendly instinct. Wyre didn't reply. "I'm Canon."

Silence.

"It's going to be alright. I'm scared too," Canon said, his voice soft, kind.

Wyre laughed, a sullen, hollow laugh. There was nothing comical about it. "You sound like my brother." Her voice was bitter.

"We can be allies," Canon proposed the idea, ignoring Wyre's less-than-polite comment. She was probably just suffering from shock. "We can do this together."

" _We_? _We_ can't win. There is no 'together'. The only thing _we_ are going to do is _die_ ," Wyre spat, her words venomous. "We are going to be ripped apart in that arena!"

She spoke so harshly Canon took a step back. He furrowed his brows, the reassuring smile that lingered on his face seconds ago, vanished.

Canon said nothing else. He didn't want to infuriate her further. He'd give her space. But, he saw it, she needed him. She needed a friend. Desperately. He figured she didn't have many. He made up his mind then and there. He was going to befriend her, if it was last thing he did. It very well could be. She was going to be his ally.

They were in this together now, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_ Okay, so I was reading the comments, and I agree. One POV chapter per tribute isn't going to be enough for you guys to get to know them. So, I'll do reapings up to District 6, then train rides for 7-12, then mixed POVs for the training days, interviews, etc. **

**Also, drop a review to make my day! Thanks to those who have reviewed! Plus, more reviews = more sponsor points for you! And wow, over 50 reviews in 6 chapters and this is my first story... thanks guys. I love you. :)  
**

 _ **District 3 Male: Canon Tadashi, 14 (AmericanPi)**_

 _ **District 3 Female: Wyre Hanson, 17 (seerket)**_

 **Who is The Pessimist and who is The Optimist? This one is hard, lol. I feel as though you get a good feel of who both Canon and Wyre are as tributes in this chapter. Plus it is super fun to write them as opposite as they are. They will have interesting conversations in the future. :) Who do you like better, and what do you think of them individually?**

 **The last chapter: Yennenga was The Fighter and Perseus was The Avenger. I loved hearing your thoughts on them!**

 **Also, I will be away at camp, so the next update will not be until after next Monday. I hope yall understand!**


	8. The Selfless and the Princess

**Chapter 8: The Selfless and the Princess**

 _ **District 4: Quinten Grayson, 15**_

He couldn't sleep. He had lain in bed all night without falling asleep once. Restless. On edge.

Quinten looked out the window. The sea reflected his mood. It tossed and turned, slamming against the shore, the rocks. Restless. On edge.

Quinten ripped his eyes away from the bedroom window. He had to move, he had to get out, he needed to inhale fresh air, he couldn't breath….

The boy made his down the wooden steps, cautiously stepping over the ones that creaked. He laced up his shoes and cracked the door open, ever so slightly, trying to avoid waking any of his family. Quinten slipped out the door, twisting the handle as he closed it so it wouldn't make a sound.

He took a few paces down the cobblestone path that transformed into the beach a couple steps ahead but stopped when a voice whispered from behind him. "Can I come?"

It was Flynn. His younger brother's hair was tousled, and dark circles hung under his eyes.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Quinten apologized, as his cheeks flushed. He internally chastised himself. He couldn't sleep, and now he had disrupted others with his own issues. He felt horrible.

Flynn shook his head. "No, you didn't wake me. I was reading. My history project isn't going to finish itself, it's due this Monday," he followed his older brother out of the house, treading through the sand in his bare feet trying to catch up.

"Oh, okay," Quinten sighed, glad he hadn't woke his brother. It was typical of Flynn to stay up working on projects anyway. That's what brainiacs did, right? Quinten wouldn't know.

The two continued their morning stroll on the beach in silence. The only sounds Quinten heard was the shrieks of gulls soaring through the sky and the steady, repetitious slam of the ocean on the shore. It was humid and the clouds were strung low in the air. The murky weather had resulted Quinten's t-shirt glued to his back.

"So, this isn't like awkward or anything," Flynn said, addressing the silence. He flicked sand up into the air with his toes as the two walked the shore length.

"I'm sorry. Next time I'll take you to the bookstore and I'll get you something so you can memorize all Panem's presidents or something. _That'll_ spice things up a little." Quinten rolled his eyes as he spoke sarcastically. He gave his brother a lazy grin.

Flynn glared at his brother. Most prodigies embrace their gifts and drown themselves in their talent. But not Flynn. He didn't like being the 'smart one.' He didn't like having to give up sports because mom and dad wanted him to join the engineering club. He didn't like being forced to stay in to read and study in lieu of hanging out with friends. But he does it anyway, because he is brilliant. Because deep down he knows that one day, he will do something special with his gifts.

" _This_ will spice things up a little," Flynn reached out to the oncoming wave and splashed Quinten with water, soaking him. "Besides, I already know all of Panem's presidents. In alphabetical order. And numerical. See: Alfred, Allister, Braum—"

Quinten laughed, before racing to the water and soaking Flynn with a few splashes in retaliation.

Flynn hunched his shoulders back in reaction to the icy embrace. The water was cold, but refreshing.

"Now you have it coming for you." Flynn let loose a battle cry, before chasing his older brother down the beach. And while Quinten's brother had many strengths, speed was not one of them. Quinten easily outran his brother as they raced down the shore line, stopping occasionally to taunt Flynn and give a quick splash.

They hollered and ran and splashed and smiled until Flynn collapsed from exhaustion and Quinten jogged back to sit beside him.

"I'm out of shape," Flynn moaned, flinging a hand over his face dramatically. "Remember when we were younger and we did this all the time? It was always boys against girls and Marianna would get upset because it was always 2 against 1?" As soon as Flynn said it, he regretted it. The smiles vanished from both of their faces. Flynn had spoken too fast, yet again.

They didn't talk about Marianna. Ever.

They sat in a sullen silence for a few moments. "Well that was a long time ago," Quinten replied. It had only been a few years, but it felt like an eternity. He could barely remember his sister's crooked smile, and her bright eyes.

Her eyes hadn't been bright when she had her body drained of blood in the Games though.

"It's different now," Flynn agreed. He put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. It was wet and sand covered. "The academy has two volunteers for the Games today. We will be fine."

Quinten thought of the others he had lost to the Games. His best friend, his girlfriend. He shuttered, and nodded. This year everything would be okay.

The two stood up. "Let's go home," Quinten said.

"Okay but—wait, what's that?" Flynn squinted, pointing to something behind Quinten, who turned around.

It the distance a few figures scrambled around the beach. There were shouts. "Let's go see," Flynn said, taking off in that direction.

Quinten followed his younger brother, curious as well. As they neared the destination is was apparent that the people were distressed over something that was lying on the beach.

As they neared, he realized that is was not a something laying on the beach, but rather a _someone_. Quinten's heart began to race. Screams came from the few fisherman that had reached the scene before them.

"—early morning catch, and they were just laying there," A man called. There was a peacekeeper present as well.

Quinten reached the scene and he realized, it wasn't one body. It was two. They had been murdered. But why? Both had their throats slit from ear to ear. The scene was covered in blood. Thick, crimson, and sliding down their faces...

Their faces.

The bodies were mangled but the faces were recognizable, very recognizable.

And Quinten's breath shortened, and the air slip out of his lungs.

Because the bodies belonged to this year's volunteers.

* * *

 ** _District 4: Brill Haddock, 13_**

" _Why_?" Brill stuffed a pillow over her face. She drew out the last letter in the word. "It's too early, Erica. 5 more minutes."

"Miss Brill, it's 7:05. We can't be late for the reaping. You said 5 more minutes 5 minutes ago. I have brought you your breakfast," Erica replied. Brill pulled the pillow away from her face. She met Erica's gaze with a scowl.

"Put it over there," Brill snapped, flicking her arm and motioning for the maid to put the breakfast tray on the nightstand.

Erica did as Brill had demanded, giving the girl a quick nod before scurrying out of the room. Brill rolled her eyes and sat up in bed. Screw the damn reaping. It was too early for this.

It was a Saturday, and she was up at 7:00. _7:00_. She couldn't remember the last time she had woken up this early on a weekend.

Brill gasped, jumping out of bed. She ran into her bathroom, the marble floors chilling her feet. But that wasn't important right now. She flipped the lights on and the chandelier hanging in the bathroom began to glow, casting light through the room.

Brill leaned in to see herself better through the mirror posted on the wall behind the sink. She let out a strangled sound.

Her eyes. She had _dark circles_ under her eyes.

Brill rubbed the copper skin below her eyes and cursed profanely. Last night had been hazy. An upperclassman at school had thrown a party. His ambassador parents were off on business at the Capitol or something. Brill didn't know the details. She just knew she had been the only in her grade that received an invite. But she was allowed to bring her friends of course; those that were worthy of coming at least.

There had been alcohol, she remembered that much. Lots of it. And hot guys too. She smiled as a few fractured memories popped up into her head. High school had been fun so far. The parties especially.

She hadn't remembered much, but she knew she had probably arrived home maybe three hours ago.

Brill's smile faded when she opened her eyes and she was staring at herself in the mirror. As if the dark circles were bad enough, makeup was smudged under her bright green eyes and her dark brown hair was sticking out all over the place wildly.

"Erica!" Brill screamed. She would not leave the house looking like a mess. She wouldn't, she couldn't. For a couple reasons.

She wasn't going to be in the Games or anything, there were two volunteers this year, but her father was the mayor. Every televised event there was always at least one shot that focused in on her, the mayor's eldest daughter. And, two, she couldn't show up to her friends looking like this. She was the leader, the star. She was beautiful, but her friends were pretty too. And she couldn't have anyone outshine her, could she? No.

"Yes, Miss Brill?" Erica came hurrying into the room, eager to help out the mayor's daughter.

"I look horrible," Brill whined. "Do something about it,"

Erica nodded, and Brill walked back into her room to sit down at her bureau. The maid pulled out a makeup kit and a hair brush. Brill bit into a pastry as Erica made her way through the tangly mess.

Brill sighed. "What would I do without you, Erica?"

* * *

" _Oh my god,_ did you hear Brill? Lacy, you know, in 12th grade, told me that Lux, her older brother, Ryan's best friend, said that he loved having us at the party last night!" Aquamarine, one of Brill's best friends squealed as they stood waiting for the reaping to begin.

Brill gave a sweet smile. "Of course he did, Aqua."

Her other friend Casey laughed. Aqua grinned. "Right! Of course he did!" The girls twirled their hair as the glanced back at the 17 and 18 year old boy's section, but it was no use. Stuck near the front with all the younger kids, no hot boys could even seen them.

"Where's Nora?" Brill changed the subject, agitation filling her voice. She glared down at her rose gold watch. "I told everyone to be here at 8:30. Can she not tell time or something? The reaping is about to start at this point."

"I don't know," Casey admitted. "She was at the party last night and everything."

"Yeah," Aquamarine chimed in, "I saw her last night, but she hasn't texted me or anything since."

"Speak of the devil," Brill spat, as Nora came hurrying over to her friends.

Her eyes were wide. " _Holy shit_. You're not going to _believe_ what I just heard."

"What?" All three of the other girls spoke in unison.

"The volunteers for this year, Camden and Porter? Well I heard that they were both found murdered on the south shore this morning,"

"You're joking."

"Get out."

"Bull," Brill said sticking her chin up. "You just made that up to atone for the face that you're late. _I said_ 8:30."

Nora shook her head. "I swear Brill! I literally just heard it as I was walking in!"

Brill opened her mouth to respond but the escort began her speech. Brill turned to face the front. He father and stepmother were seated behind the escort. Their hands were interlocked as the escort rambled on in front of them. They were both looking at her. She gave them a small wave. Her father waved back and her stepmother gave her a warm smile.

Brill smiled then, too.

"And now, the male tribute that will be competing in the Games for District 4 will be…." She opened the card. "Flynn Grayson!" The esccort began clapping. The sound echoed hollowly through the square.

There was silence for what felt like forever. Brill looked over to Nora who flashed her a small smile. _I told you so._

"I volunteer!" Porter shouted. His voice cracked, and Brill almost laughed. She gave Nora a smirk. _No, I told you so._

The volunteer made his way up to the stage. And Brill's mouth fell open.

"And why did you volunteer?" The escort gave a big smile, waiting for the response.

"Because I didn't want to lose another person I love to the Games."

The volunteer was not Porter.

The smile on the escort's face had been wiped away by that comment. "What's your name?" She said, less enthusiastically.

"My name is Quinten Grayson," They boy looked older, he had maybe a few years on Brill. But he was definitely not the trained volunteer. He was attractive though, in a rugged way, with sandy hair and tan skin.

The crowd couldn't stay quiet. Where was Porter? Why didn't he volunteer? A sense of nervousness filtered through the town square.

A shiver crawled up Brill's spine. Nora couldn't be right, could she?

"Everyone," the escort chastised the crowd. "Tone it down! Now, for the District 4's female tribute….. Brill Haddock!"

Brill's heart beat faster than it ever had. _Come on Camden. Volunteer._

Ten seconds went by. "Brill?" She stood frozen. _Camden._

Twenty. "Brill Haddock? Where is Brill Haddock? She is in the 13 year old section."

She couldn't believe it. "Camden," Brill let loose a strangled noise. "Camden, volunteer. _Volunteer_!" She hissed.

Peacekeepers parted the crowd and walked over, feet stomping as the came to retrieve her. Two grabbed her arms. Nora, Aqua, and Casey looked horrified.

"Volunteer!" Brill screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Camden! _Anybody_!"

She was on the stage now. The Peacekeepers let go of her arms. She was standing next to Quinten, whose eyes were wide. Her legs gave out under her. She turned around to her parents.

" _Daddy_!" She hadn't called him that since she was a child. "Daddy _please_ , help me!" She couldn't see her parents, her eyes were blurred by the tears that ran down her face.

And then she had an idea. Brill crawled towards the edge of the stage. It was at least a ten foot drop. _They wouldn't take a tribute with a broken arm right? Or a fractured foot?_ She thought. Brill threw herself over, bracing herself for the impact, but she never made it to the ground.

Peacekeepers had grabbed her, saved her.

And then she lost it. Crying, kicking, screaming. She didn't care who saw her. She. Did. Not. Care. She would not die like this! Not in the arena! She would not! _She would not_ —

Everything went black.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_ I'm baaaack! I was reading all the reviews, and thanks for all the honesty. I appreciate it! So I hope you guys liked the chapter! What'd you think? Who was your favorite? Why? And who do you think is The Princess and who is The Selfless? This is another really hard one (JKJK). **

**And remember.. when you don't comment it makes it really easy to choose bloodbaths ;)**

 **Also, if I choose your tribute I might adjust the ages to where I see fit. Not everyone can be 16-18 lol.**

 **And the District 4 tributes are *drumroll*...**

 _ **District 4 Male: Quinten Grayson, 15 (AthenaMonaLisa)  
**_

 _ **District 4 Female: Brill Haddock, 13 (faceless eater aka slendergirl)**_

 **Last chapter Wyre was The Pessimist and Canon was the Optimist (obviously lol)**

 **Well, until next time! Bye!**


	9. The Manipulator and the Brainiac

**District 5: The Manipulator and the Brainiac**

 _ **District 5: Alina Van der Veen, 15**_

Empty. Her wallet was completely and totally empty. How had the money slipped away so fast? Alina sighed. How didn't matter. Her wallet was empty, and she couldn't buy her supplies with a mere smile.

The girl rummaged through her closet, plucking out a simple gray shirt and brown pants. Nothing that would draw too much attention.

It was early, too early for her parents and brother to be awake, so Alina had no problem slipping out the door unnoticed.

Alina trailed through her neighbor's backyards, and eventually into the streets that lead to the town's square. Usually the city's center wasn't very busy at this early hour, but she guessed many were out to buy things they couldn't get later due to the reapings. All of the stores would be shut down for that event.

Alina shuddered. She didn't want to think of the reaping right now.

The girl eyes flashed between all this morning's clientele and she smiled. The odds were in her favor today. The square was bustling. She had so much to chose from.

Alina picked her first target. A loud and boisterous woman arguing with a vendor, trying to negotiate the price of some silks. Her purse was hanging at her side. Unguarded.

Her mistake.

Alina walked silently and swiftly, behind the woman, and slipped her nimble hand into the purse. She wriggled around, and slid her hand back out again once she had a grip on something she felt was valuable enough.

In and out. In less than a few seconds. Alina popped the item into her own bag, not bothering to look down at the object she had snagged. She would sort that all out later.

So Alina strolled down the streets, choosing her 'donors' and picking at their things, with finesse and experience. This was not the first time she had done this. And it wouldn't be the last.

After what Alina deemed a sufficient amount of picking, she carried herself to a empty alley where she dumped out her come-ups.

She had gathered coins, dollars; and estimated they might add up to around fifty all together. Alina also snagged a few herbs, a necklace, and a ring.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Alina packed all the things into the bag and once again strolled down the streets. This time to her destination.

As she walked into the art store the bells jangled signaling she had arrived.

"Alina," The storekeeper greeted, sounding less than enthusiastic.

Alina just smiled. "Good morning Gertrude, you look quite lovely today."

The shopkeeper grumbled, rolling her gaunt eyes.

Alina's smile faded. "I'd like a set of charcoals, three small canvases, new paintbrushes, and some weighted paper." She threw down two five dollar bills on the counter.

Gertrude rolled her eyes again; it was her favorite thing to do. "Well it's 20 dollars for the charcoal and 7 for each canvas. For a whole set of paintbrushes it's 15, and each stack of paper is 10. You do the math," the old woman sneered.

Alina squinted at the money. "No, I think that's exactly the right amount. That's how much my art supplies cost, and the cost of me not telling the butcher you were the one who anonymously sold his rebel daughter out to the Capitol last week. Ah, the things us humans do for money."

Gertrude clenched her teeth and cursed profoundly at Alina. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything," Alina whispered. She motioned to the money. " _That's_ a token of my kindness. It eases my conscience. Helps me sleep at night, you know?"

"I'll go get your supplies, you cheating little _bitch_."

Alina gave a sweet smile. _That's what I thought._

* * *

 _ **District 5: Roman Aveyard, 17**_

Roman's eyes flitted open. His vision was hazy and his head pounded.

 _Again?_ Roman thought, as his senses sharpened. He looked at the book sprawled across his chest, the science journal open on his bed, and the empty cup of expresso sitting on his bed-side table.

He'd have to get an extra shot of caffeine in it next time.

Roman couldn't remember what time he had fallen asleep, but it must have been early on. He silently cursed at the fact he hadn't even completed half of the work he had wanted to.

And now he'd half to waste half of day, hours that could be used to study, research, _learn,_ standing and watching as two District 5 children were escorted to their deaths. District 5 rarely had winners.

Roman's stomach hurt just thinking about it. He didn't like the Games, not one bit. Of course no one did, unless you lived in the Capitol or maybe a Career district, but the hatred he felt for them was planted deep in his heart.

Roman got up, dressed, and traveled to the kitchen, with his journal and book of course, and sat down for breakfast.

"Good morning Roman," His father said, eyes never veering away from the newspaper they were glued upon.

His mother, who was making breakfast, did not utter a word to her oldest son.

Roman laid his journal down and began reading where he thought he had left off. Microorganisms and their host cells. Right.

After a few more minutes of reading and notating in silence, his little brother Ellis strolled into the kitchen walking with such ease, such grace.

Just like he did everything else.

"Good morning dear," Roman's mother mused.

Roman's father looked up from under his spectacles at his youngest son and smiled at his presence. He stood up, and walked to Ellis wrapping him in a big hug and ruffling his hair. "How's my boy?" He asked, releasing Ellis from his grip.

"Okay!" Ellis flashed a smile, and Roman could tell that his little brother was nervous for the upcoming reaping. "I looked over the stuff for my english test last night a bit, and now I'm ready for the test! After the reaping…." He trailed off, "I don't have anything else to worry about for the weekend."

And despite only flipping through his notes once, Roman knew his brother would ace his test. He always did. That's how Ellis was, and his parents loved the boy for that, how easily everything came to him, how he naturally was.

Roman, on the other hand, had a test on Monday as well, a science test. One that he was studying for, analyzing chapters, and taking notes for. With this day of studying ahead of him, he would be ready by the time Monday rolled around.

But he was not like his brother. He had to work for all he achieved.

Roman's mother sat down plates for all four of them, and they whole family began to eat.

He wolfed down his food and stalked back to his room. Roman had a lot of things to get done today, and with the reaping coming up in a few hours there was no time to be wasted on anything other than studying.

* * *

 _ **District 5: Alina Van der Veen, 14**_

Alina did what she had to do. Her family was not piss poor, but they did not make nearly enough money to support her artistic endeavors. Supplies were expensive, and didn't last very long.

She walked back into her room. It was filled with colors. Canvases were stacked up against the wall, splashed with an assortment of colors. Alina's artwork covered the walls of her room. A field of daisies bathing in sunlight, a dimly lit alleyway, a waterfall flowing through a dense forest.

She loved color. She relished in in. She wanted to sell her art this summer, to make money doing what she loved. Soon, after school was over, she would. A few clients were already interested.

And then she wouldn't have to steal.

Alina emptied her bag of new supplies on her desk, to be handled later, and headed to her closet to pick out an outfit for the reaping. Her stomach hurt. She knew she probably wouldn't be reaped, but what if? There was always a possibility, and that was what scared her the most.

She finally decided on a light green dress that complimented her dirty blonde hair and brought out the green in her hazel eyes.

It was almost time.

* * *

She hated this part. The waiting. The anticipation. Whose name would it be this year? Alina stood among her friends. Their arms were all linked.

The escort took large, grandiose steps up to the first bowl. Her name was in there. He grabbed a card.

"Alina Van der Veen!" He drew out the last syllable, the e, as if she was the winner of a game show.

She was very far from that.

Tears poured down Alina's cheeks as her world shattered.

It seemed the odds weren't in her favor today, after all.

* * *

 _ **District 5: Roman Aveyard, 17**_

He felt bad for the girl. She walked to the stage, trying her best to hold herself together, but she couldn't. She was scared, and she had every right to be.

Roman watched the escort make another spectacle of walking up to the next bowl.

It didn't help. He was already agitated they had not let him bring his book into the reaping ceremony. Now he had no distraction from what was really happening here. This girl on stage would die. Anger pulsed beneath his skin, mixing with his own terror.

Roman did all he could to not shake with fear.

The escort held a name. "Roman Aveyard for this year's District 5 male tribute!"

Roman. _Him. That was him_. He really began shaking now. Trembling. He had never been this scared before.

 _No. No. No. No._

His vision went hazy again, and the world went black.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ **I was going to update this last night but the site wasn't wokring? Sorry guys. I will try to update more often, but I have camp coming up these next few weeks so idk. :)  
**

 **And, each spot has had at least one tribute for a while now :) so thanks to all those who have submitted. I'm not closing submissions just yet though, as I've gotten some really awesome submissions recently!**

 **But... District 5! We are moving along! Who did you like better this chapter? Roman or Alina? And who do you think is The Manipulator, who is The Brainiac?  
**

 _ **District 5 Male: Roman Aveyard, 17 (rogueofminds)  
**_

 _ **District 5 Female: Alina Van der Veen, 15 (Firebird4)**_

 **Last chapter The Princess was Brill and the Selfless was Quinten. Congrats to all who got it right!**

 **So we are at 85 reviews right now, if we could get to 100 before the next chapter, I'd be so happy guys, you don't even know. :) And remember, answering the questions and reviewing each chapter gets you sponsor points. Some of you have quite a lot already. ;)**

 **And, I've decided to continue with 12 reapings. I feel as if you'll get to know the characters better this way. So yeah. Until next time my friends!**


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